


Only Sky Above Us

by HawthorneWhisperer



Series: Road Trip [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4094245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For b-ellamyblakes BellarkeFicWeek challenge, day eight (wedding AU), a second half to Let Your Love Come Out.  Bellamy and Clarke have made it through the worlds worst  best road trip, but now they have to deal with Octavia and Lincoln’s wedding and their exceedingly annoying and interfering friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Sky Above Us

_Saturday, 10am.  Seattle, Washington._

Officially, they told their friends that they managed to stay on speaking terms for most of the  the road trip.  Unofficially, they had spent every free second sneaking into elevators and empty rooms to make out.  Bellamy figured they could make it through the weekend without scrutiny,  but then Miller outright asked him as Bellamy stood in front of the sink shaving.

Bellamy froze, because aside from volunteering to get Clarke back to her room after the rehearsal dinner, he thought they’d been relatively discreet.  Granted, Drunk Clarke tended to be a little bit more affectionate than Sober Clarke, but aside from the moment when she squeezed his thigh under the table and the three random hugs she bestowed on him, they hadn’t done anything too conspicuous.  Of course, all bets were off when the elevator doors closed and they were alone, when Clarke had kissed him and sleepily nuzzled into his chest as she whined that she didn’t want to sleep without him that night.  Bellamy had to admit that after years of watching a drunk Clarke lavish affection on her friends it felt good to have it directed his way.

All of this flashed through his brain the second Miller said, “So, you and Griffin hooked up, right?”   _Had Miller seen them?  Had he let something slip after his third whiskey and coke last night?_   His jaw dropped open and his brain whirred, but it was too late.  An enormous grin threatened to split Miller’s face in two.  “I knew it!  Who’s mix did it?”

“What?”  Bellamy asked because protesting was clearly futile.

“Which mix got you guys to admit you’ve been dying to bone?  It was mine, wasn’t it?”  Miller fist pumped the air while Bellamy struggled to process his friend’s betrayal.

“Hate to break it to you, but it was Reyes’ mix,” Bellamy said finally.  It wasn’t completely true, but he had to admit that realizing Clarke was jealous of him and Raven had gone a long way towards pushing him to put a name to the very confusing emotions that generally swirled around Clarke.  Plus he was kind of pissed at Miller right now.

“What?  No way,” Miller complained.  “That mix I made was perfect for you two.  Literally every song was carefully chosen for your dynamic.  Raven’s was just sex music for an hour.”  He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through something, an intense look on his face.

Bellamy chuckled and swished his razor in the water before bringing it back to the underside of his jaw.  “If we’re going to be pedantic, nobody’s mix worked.  It just sort of…happened.  But Reyes’ was probably the winner.”

Miller tapped at his phone and a familiar song started playing.  “Do you mean to tell me this song meant nothing to you guys?  Because really, it was basically written for you two.”  The lyrics kicked in and Miller–far too aggressively for the gentle song–began singing along.   _When my time comes around/lay me gently in the cold dark earth/no grave can hold my body down/I’ll crawl home to her_.

Bellamy rolled his eyes.  “How on earth is that me and Clarke?  We mostly just argue.”

“Right.  Argue and then act like the world’s most territorial gorillas around each other.”

“We do not.”

“Do too.  Or do you expect me to believe you go out to the bars and hover just behind all the women you can’t stand, looking like you’ll murder anyone who approaches her?”

“I watch out for all the girls,” Bellamy protested weakly.  “But besides, she doesn’t do the same to me.”

“First of all, yes she does.  Did you not wonder why the number of girls you picked up went down drastically once we started hanging out with them?  That girl is scary when she wants to be.  Besides…”  Miller glanced away.

“Besides  _what_ , Miller?”  Bellamy snapped.  He didn’t like the fact that everyone else seemed to have noticed things he and Clarke hadn’t realized until just a few days ago.  He drained the sink and pushed past Miller into the room.

“Why do you think Clarke always paid for Octavia’s shit?”

“She loves O.”

“Yeah, but she also knew that when O ran out of money, you’d to bail her out.  And you don’t exactly have a lot.”

Bellamy tried to push down his surge of annoyance and failed.  “You know what your mix did accomplish?” Bellamy called as he dug through his suitcase for a clean undershirt.  “We both agreed that you’re in love with Monty.”

Miller leaned out of the bathroom, the shaving cream doing little to hide how grey his face had just gotten.  “What?”

“Relax.  Clarke says he’s into you, you just have to make the first move because he never will.”

Miller narrowed his eyes at Bellamy.  “Fuck you, Blake,” he said, without any real heat.

“Fuck you too, Miller,” he returned.

 

_Saturday, 9:30pm.  Seattle, Washington._

Bellamy leaned back and loosened his tie while Octavia spun in Lincoln’s arms out on the dance floor.  Clarke was right–Lincoln was a good dancer. (And a good sport, as he had demonstrated earlier that he clearly learned O’s choreography to Wanna Dance With Somebody.)  He watched Miller and Monty talk to each other in a corner, their dark heads so close they were almost touching, and smiled.  He was happy for his friend, but he still wished he and Clarke hadn’t agreed to keep things quiet.  She had given him more courage than she knew through the wedding, first when she watched him as he walked Octavia down the aisle, her steady gaze reminding him that he wasn’t losing O, not really.  And then while one of Lincoln’s brother’s gave his toast Bellamy’s hand found Clarke’s under the table and she squeezed it comfortingly before as he stood to give his toast.  Miller’s head bowed closer to Monty as he whispered something that made Monty giggle and blush and Bellamy decided he didn’t really care anymore–he was going to find Clarke and suggest they just rip the band-aid off now.

Before he’d managed to stand Clarke materialized at his side.  “Raven knows,” she said bluntly as she collapsed into the chair next to him.

“What?  How?”

“Miller.”  Bellamy knew he looked guilty and Clarke rolled her eyes.  “There we were, sitting at a table and debating whether or not she should go hook up with the bartender–the mean one, with the nose?–and Miller walks over all pissed off and slapped down a twenty, and then the next thing I know Raven is punching me in the arm and yelling at me for not telling her I had, and I quote, ‘joined the sisterhood of Bellamy’s dick.’”

Bellamy winced.  “I can go kill her, if you want,” he offered.

Clarke waved him off.  “You’d probably get an eyeful of Jackass Bartender if you tried to find her now, so I don’t recommend it.  How did Miller find out?”

“He guessed.”

“Okay, fine,” Clarke said.  “But if Miller knows and Raven knows, that means at least one of them is going to tell Monty.”

Bellamy sighed heavily.  “And Monty’s going to tell Jasper, which just leaves Octavia.”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Okay, you wait here–I’ve got this,” Bellamy told her and made his way across the dance floor to the DJ.  Raven had complained earlier that Anya was an uber-bitch who refused a simple request (which Bellamy now had a sneaking suspicion was Let’s Get It On and felt a surge of affection for the dour woman behind the speakers) but Bellamy had faith in his natural charm.

And sure enough, a short conversation later (and $20 poorer because Raven had been kind of right about Anya), Bellamy was walking back towards Clarke as John Lennon’s voice floated around them.  Clarke raised one eyebrow as he approached.  “You hate this song,” she said.

“True.  But you love it,” he countered and held out his hand.  She was still looking at him skeptically so he flashed her a smile and saw the exact second her resolve melted.  He towed her onto the dance floor and found a space next to Octavia and Lincoln.

“You’re dancing to this?  You hate this song,” Octavia observed.

Bellamy wrapped his arm around Clarke’s waist and pressed her close to him.  He looked pointedly at Octavia, who stared blankly for a second and then squealed with joy.  

“No way.  No.   _Way_.  No way,” she said over and over again, while Lincoln looked mildly amused.  “Was it my CD?  It was, wasn’t it?”

Clarke pursed her lips.  “I’m really not loving that you guys all ganged up on us,” she said as Bellamy shook his head.

“And you didn’t do anything to stop her?” he asked Lincoln, who merely shrugged.

“I’m not crazy enough to get between your sister and one of her plans,” Lincoln said genially. Bellamy and Lincoln shared a brief smile and once again he was reminded that as hard as this was, Octavia was in good hands. Octavia let go of Lincoln and hugged Bellamy and Clarke at the same time, and then returned to her dance with her new husband.

Bellamy gently guided Clarke back into the mix of couples and ducked his head so his lips were against her ear.  “I think that covers everyone except Jasper.  Where is he?”

“Getting high with the caterers, I’d imagine.”

“He can figure it out on his own, then,” Bellamy said and Clarke rested her forehead on his shoulder.  Her lavender bridesmaid dress was slippery under his hand and he wished her hair wasn’t swept up in an elaborate updo so he could tangle his fingers in her hair.  The song played on (still cheesy, but it was growing on him) as they swayed together.

“Holy shit,” Jasper’s squeaky voice carried across the dance floor.  “Holy  _shit_.  Do you guys see this?   _Do you guys see this?_ ”

 

 

_Sunday, 1am.  Seattle, Washington._

Bellamy lifted Clarke into his arms and kicked the door shut behind him.  Thanks to a round robin of room switches arranged by Raven ( _Miller will stay with Monty and Clarke will stay with Bellamy which means Jasper will stay with me and all you fuckers owe me_ ,) Bellamy had Clarke to himself for the night.  And, he realized with a shock, the next four nights in a row.  (He really, really owed Octavia and her shitty packing skills for forcing this road trip.)

Clarke’s ankles locked behind his back and she cradled his face in her hands, kissing him eagerly.  He carried her to the bed and let her slide down his body.  Her dress bunched between them and she kept her lips working against his as she undid his tie and tugged it from under his collar.  She managed to get his shirt unbuttoned and shoved off his shoulders by the time he untied the knot at the base of her neck holding up her dress.  He tugged the ends free and…nothing.

Clarke giggled.  “The material was too slippery for the halter top to stay knotted.  There’s a safety pin in there too,” she explained, abandoning her quest to loosen his belt and turning around.

Bellamy located the safety pin and finally, the straps fell.  “While you’re back there, mind helping with my hair?” She asked over her shoulder, which Bellamy kissed softly, unable to resist the expanse of bare skin.

Clarke’s long waves were twisted and shellacked into an elaborate twist.  Bellamy’s blunt fingers started picking out the pins he could find, while Clarke kicked off her high heels and sank down a few inches.  She giggled as he swore at the insane amount of pins, but eventually, they managed to build a small mountain of bobby pins on the nightstand.  Her hair was still stiff from the product but he tangled his fingers in it anyway as he spun her around to kiss her again.

Their kisses were softer now, less urgent.  Her tongue traced his lower lip and he opened his mouth for her, groaning as she slid her tongue slowly alongside his.  She dug her nails into his shoulder blades and rose into her toes to kiss him more deeply.  Bellamy undid her zipper and she stepped back to let her dress pool at her feet and unclasped her strapless bra.  His mouth went dry at the sight of her, still not prepared for how beautiful she looked in dim light, all lush curves and soft hints of pink on her creamy skin.  Her black lace panties contrasted sharply with her ivory skin and his eyes roamed her body greedily.

Clarke closed the distance between them and ran her hands across the planes of his chest and down his stomach, her touch light but sure.  She unbuckled his belt and his trousers, shivering slightly as Bellamy trailed his fingers down her spine and traced the divots at the base.  Part of him wanted to crush her against him but another part held back, wanting her to lead.  She pressed a kiss to his sternum and shoved his pants over his hips before stepping back and arranging herself on the bed, resting on her elbows with her legs draped over the edge.

Bellamy broke, kicking off his shoes and pants and bending to kiss her as hard as he could, sinking his teeth into her lip and then trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck.  His hands came up to cup her breasts and his thumbs teased her nipples until they pebbled.  He sucked first one, and then the other into his mouth, flickering his tongue across her nipple each time.  He knelt between her legs and skimmed across the soft curve of her stomach with his lips as he hooked his fingers in the side of her panties.  He raised an eyebrow.  “This okay?”

Clarke looked down and frowned.  “Why on earth wouldn’t it be okay?  Get to work,” she ordered, and Bellamy retaliated by nipping at her inner thigh. She shrieked and sat up in protest, fitting her arms around his shoulders and trapping his hips with her knees.  Bellamy took a moment to breathe her in and rested his hands on the dip of her waist.  Her pupils were blown wide, her lips swollen.  His heart twisted and his breath caught in his throat.  “This is good, isn’t it?” she said and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  Bellamy caught the meaning behind her words, because she was right–it was good with her.  More than good–it was easy.  There was no pretense between them, no artifice.  He was himself with her, no more and no less, and he suspected it was the same with her.  The truth of that settled in his gut.

“It is,” he confirmed.  “Now lay back so I can get to work.” He placed a hand between her breasts and shoved her back playfully and then curled his fingers into her panties to drag them down her legs.  The thin, rough carpet bit into his knees, but that sensation faded at the sight of Clarke, spread before him.

Bellamy tossed the panties behind him and nuzzled at the thin skin of her thighs.  He could smell her arousal, tang and musk and sweet rolled into one, and he gently traced the seam of her folds with one finger, and then parted the golden thatch of hair to press his tongue against her clit.  Clarke’s fingers curled into his hair and tugged sharply but Bellamy wouldn’t be rushed.  He licked a long, slow stripe up her center and smirked at the moan that fell from her lips.  He feathered his tongue against her clit and then down to her entrance, reveling in her taste.  He thrust his tongue inside of her and her legs started to tremble, her whines getting higher and higher pitched as he fucked her with his tongue, and when he moved back to her clit and pressed his tongue firmly against it she fell to pieces with a sharp cry that sounded suspiciously like his name.  He kept his tongue on her as she shook and quivered, until the last waves of her orgasm had passed.

Bellamy kissed her thigh and then her hip, dragging his lips up her body, stopping briefly to twirl his tongue around her breast.  She weakly pushed herself further onto the bed and drew him close.  Her skin was flushed and her breasts heaved as she brought her breathing back to normal.  Clarke pressed a sloppy kiss to his forehead and reached down into his boxers, wrapping her hand around him and stroking him until he was achingly hard.  

He rolled off of her and reached for the stack of condoms Raven had handed them ( _Always be prepared_ , she’d yelled and slapped them down on the table) and rolled one on.  “Ready?” he rasped, and when she nodded he positioned himself over her and pushed inside as slowly as he could.  Clarke gasped and arched her back, meeting his slow thrust with a revolution of her hips that stole his breath away.  She scratched her nails down his back, leaving a trail of fire in her wake and he pinned their foreheads together.  She had her legs curled around him and he shifted slightly, pushing one of her thighs against her chest.  At the change in angle they both cried out and Bellamy slid even deeper inside of her.  He barely pulled out at all, just enough to give them both the friction they craved, because he had never felt as alive when he was inside her.  His blood was burning in his veins as she spurred him on, pulling him deeper and deeper, and when she snaked a hand between them to touch herself he let himself go, groaning and shuddering while her walls fluttered around him.  

Bellamy collapsed on her, utterly spent, and she let out a dry chuckle.  She played with his hair and kissed the top of his head before shifting a little uncomfortably.  “You’re kinda heavy, you know,” she observed, and Bellamy briefly considered staying put just to tease her, but in the end practicality won out and he pulled out of her and rolled to the side.  He barely had the energy to dispose of the condom before sleep washed over him.  His last coherent memory was of Clarke curling next to him and kissing the tip of his nose.

 

 

_Sunday, 9:15am.  Seattle, Washington._

Bellamy’s phone beeped insistently and he blindly groped for it, groaning.  

“What time is it?” Clarke mumbled.

“9:15.  I think I set the alarm so we could make brunch with everyone, but fuck that,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Mmm, but if we don’t it’s gonna be worse once we get back.  I say we face the beast,” Clarke replied, her point weakened by the way she burrowed into his arms.

“In that case, I should shower,” he muttered into her hair.  

Clarke made a noise somewhere halfway between assent and a whine but let him untangle his limbs from hers and climb out of bed.  His muscles ached but he didn’t mind, not in the slightest.  Not when the cause looked so beautiful, spread out in a sleepy daze on the bed.  “Want to join me?” he offered, because he couldn’t not.

Clarke made a face.  “The water would just wash away my vaginal lubrication.  Shower sex always ends up chafing,” she said so matter-of-factly Bellamy let out a bark of laughter and leaned over the bed to kiss her soundly.  He adored her bluntness, he realized, even if she managed to make something as hot as shower sex sound clinical and and distasteful.

He climbed into the shower and twisted the knobs to let the water run hot, beating down on his shoulders as he mindlessly lathered shampoo into his hair.  The curtain rustled and Clarke poked her head in, showing no sign of her previous sleepiness.  Bellamy turned to face her as she stepped in.  “Thought you weren’t a fan of shower sex,” he reminded her.  

Clarke grinned.  “Who said anything about sex?  Move,” she ordered, and ducked past him into the spray.  She let Bellamy soap up her hair, and when she tilted her head back and he massaged the lather out under the stream of hot water she moaned softly.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him against the length of her body to kiss him.  Her tongue brushed against his and her hands drifted lower, first to cup his backside and then to take him in her hand.

Bellamy felt himself stir.  “You said–” he protested, but she silenced him with another kiss.  She trailed her lips down his jaw, to his shoulder where she bit down gently, and then further down, kissing her way across his chest and stomach.

Clarke dropped to her knees and worked her hand up and down his shaft, her lips parted slightly.  She licked her lips and then touched her tongue to the underside of his erection, moving slowly from the base to the tip and then back again.  She swirled her tongue over the tip and he didn’t think he’d ever see anything as hot as Clarke, soaking wet, on her knees, taking him in her  mouth. Bellamy braced himself over her and let the hot water pound into his back as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and the moan it tore from his throat was positively needy.  Clarke kept one hand wrapped around him while her other hand roamed from his thigh to cup his balls, rolling them in her hand while she took him so deep he could have sworn his dick hit the back of her throat.  She bobbed her head and twisted the hand on his cock and he felt the tell-tale heat at the base of his spine, and with only a few more strokes he was whispering a warning and then coming harder than he thought possible.  She swallowed and then sucked just a little harder, sending one last tremor of pleasure through him.

He curved his hand around her cheek as she let go of his dick and smiled, clearly pleased with herself.  He helped her stand and kissed her, first gently but then more thoroughly, wanting to show her the feelings he couldn’t find the words for.  She seemed to understand and responded eagerly, capturing his lips with her own and sliding her hands up his back to keep him close to her.

She tucked her head under his chin and they stood in the hot water, clinging to each other, until they knew that they had to get out or risk the wrath of Raven Reyes being deprived of an opportunity to mock them.  They dried off and dressed slowly, hampered by the long, lingering kisses and constant caresses that passed between them.  Bellamy finally got the chance to trace the path of a water droplet down her shoulder, but in the end Clarke pulled away with the quiet promise of  _later_.  

Eventually, they were fully dressed and dangerously close to being late for brunch.

“Ready to go eat breakfast with your jackass friends?” he asked.

“Number one, it’s brunch, not breakfast.  Number two, they’re your friends too.  And number three: ready as I’ll ever be,” she confirmed and Bellamy knit their fingers together as they left the hotel room to go join their friends.

 

_Sunday, 10am.  Seattle, Washington._

A blast of air conditioning hit them as they walked into the cheap diner Raven had chosen for their morning brunch.  Octavia and Lincoln would already be at the airport, on their way to Hawaii for a week, but the rest of the gang would be there.

Fortunately for Bellamy and Clarke, only Raven and Jasper were there.  Raven had an evil smile on her face but Jasper looked like death warmed over, desperately slurping coffee from a cheap ceramic mug like it would somehow cure his hangover.  “Morning, my beauties,” Raven sing-songed.

Clarke sank into the chair opposite her.  “Raven Juanita Reyes–”

“Not my middle name,” Raven interrupted.

“Keep your damn mouth shut today, okay?”

Raven narrowed her eyes, clearly about to pick a fight, but the tinkle of a bell announcing a new arrival drew everyone’s eyes to the door.  Monty and Miller stood together, hand in hand, and the rest of them broke out into a round of applause that stained Monty’s cheeks pink and made Miller drop their clasped hands and frown at them. They took seats together at the end of the table and for a minute, everyone quieted down and examined the sticky plastic menus.  But once the waitress bustled away, Jasper looked across the table at Monty and opened his mouth.

“Not a word, Jasper Jacob Jordan,” Monty warned.

“Not my middle name,” Jasper rasped on cue.

Bellamy couldn’t take it anymore.  “Okay, could someone, for the love of god, explain this goddamn joke to me?  Why is it funny to use fake middle names for each other?”

Raven, Monty, and Miller immediately collapsed into giggles and Jasper snorted, coughed, and then darted from the table towards the bathroom.  Clarke bit her lip in a losing battle with a smile.  “Do you not know?” she asked.

“If I knew, would I be asking?” he grumbled.  He didn’t like the way everyone was laughing at him, so he hid his face behind the coffee mug and took a long drink.

“Don’t you remember that night Jasper kept trying to guess your middle name?  And you and O wouldn’t tell us what it was?”

Bellamy had a vague memory of Jasper following him around the girls’ house one night, listing names that  got increasingly ridiculous as the night went on.  (Honestly, did he really think Bellamy’s middle name was Julius Caeser?)  “Yeah.  Still don’t get the joke.”

Clarke placed her hand on his knee and squeezed.  “You kept barking ‘not my middle name’ at him every time.  It was…kind of hilarious?”

“That’s it?”  He looked at her in disbelief.

“That’s it,” she confirmed.  “It’s dumb, but…I mean, we all thought you were in on the joke.”

“Oh,” he said flatly, trapped in her bright blue gaze.

Raven’s phone made a Mario Kart noise, breaking the odd spell he found himself under.  She looked at her phone and made a face.  “Ugh.  That guy.  From last night?  He wants to see me again.  Because Virginia to Washington is such an easy commute.”  She rolled her eyes and dropped her phone in her purse.

Bellamy decided to take a stab at the group’s game.  “Raven Maria Reyes,” he started, but she just stared at him.  “Come on,” he whined.  “You have to play along now that I get it.”

She shook her head, disappointed.  “Bell, that is my middle name.  The game only works when you know each other’s middle names.”  Raven leveled her gaze at him.  “So if you want in, we need to know yours.”  Jasper returned from the bathroom looking a little less green and gulped down an obscene amount of water.

“Robert,” Bellamy mumbled to the table after a long pause.  

Clarke looked at him.  “Robert?  What the hell is wrong with Robert?”

“Wait for it,” he mumbled.

“OH MY GOD YOUR NAME IS BELLAMY BOB,” Jasper roared.

“There it is,” Bellamy noted as everyone else dissolved into laughter.

Clarke nudged him with her elbow.  “That’s not so bad,” she said, again losing her fight to keep her face straight.  Reluctantly Bellamy returned her smile and kissed her forehead, which drew a round of screeches and catcalls from everyone else.

 

The waitress arrived with their food and Bellamy reached for Clarke’s hand under the table.  She knitted their fingers together and squeezed and they turned back to the group, together.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, special thanks to bleedtoloveher. Title is from Imagine by John Lennon.


End file.
